


red light green light

by Anonymous



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 0 angst here just losers having fun figuring out what they're into while being stupid in love, Communication, Established Relationship, M/M, write the porn u wish to see in the world i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It takes a while for Auston to talk. “I, uh. I liked it. When you told me what to do.”“No kidding,” Mitch says, kind of wry, because Matts has always had a tendency to understate shit.





	red light green light

Once they’re all cleaned up, Mitch pulls on a pair of boxers he’s pretty sure belongs to him and sits down, cross-legged next to Matts on the bed.

The sheets are still a little gross, but Auston hasn’t moved except to pull the covers up by his chest. He’s been watching silently as Mitch got a washcloth from the bathroom and found something to wear, and now he rolls over on one side so they’re looking at each other. Neither one speaks. It feels big.

They weren’t even trying to do anything unusual, is the thing. They’d just been making out, Mitch kind of lazily palming Matts through his sweatpants without really aiming for anything in particular, and then he’d told Auston not to move, and Auston had listened.

And that doesn’t really sound like anything, except for that Mitch kept saying stuff, and Auston kept listening. And Mitch isn’t smart, maybe, but he figures that there’s a pretty obvious correlation between that – the telling and listening – and the fact that Matts came as hard as Mitch has ever seen, shaking the whole time and breathing Mitch’s name, all broken.

Like, okay, full disclosure: The best part of sex, for Mitch, has always been the other person’s reactions. He could probably get pretty close just from watching Auston’s facial expressions – which, duh, he’d never actually say, because it’s sappy as shit and that’s not really them – even under normal circumstances, but tonight...

He’s never seen Auston that taken apart, before.

Now Auston takes Mitch’s hand, tracing the outline of his fingers against the sheets, both of them looking at him doing that like it’s the most important thing in the world. The quiet isn’t awkward, exactly. Just- loaded. Mitch’d usually break it, but tonight he doesn’t say anything, just waits for Auston to be ready to talk. He thinks he can hear Auston’s mind working, sometimes, when he’s thinking really hard.

“I, uh,” Auston says finally, tracing Mitch’s pinkie finger without meeting his eyes. “I guess I liked it. When you told me what to do.”

“No kidding,” Mitch says, kind of wry, because Matts has always had a tendency to understate shit. 

He’s blushing now, faint but there. “Don’t get weirded out.”

“I’m not,” Mitch says, but he relents when Auston levels him with a look. “Okay, it was a little weird. But not _bad_ weird. Just- like. Surprising?” 

Auston is the one who looks surprised, at that. “How come?”

Mitch shrugs, lacing their fingers. “You’re always so, like. In control?”

“Well,” Auston says, only a little awkward, and Mitch realizes that that’s maybe kind of the point. Which-

Huh.

“Sorry,” Matts continues without waiting for a response, still hesitant enough to tug at something in Mitch’s gut. “If that was a turnoff.”

“Nothing about you’s a turnoff,” Mitch says, firm, and means it. “’sides, I’ve been told I tend to be bossy anyways, so-”

“What?” Auston asks, feigning shock; he tugs at their joined hands ‘til Mitch comes and curls up next to him, resting his head on his chest. “You, bossy? Who’d ever say something like that?” He calls Mitch bossy at least twice a week.

Mitch rolls his eyes, glad that he’s all pressed up against Auston so he can’t see the definitely stupid-fond look on his face. “Probably someone with, like, a really big head,” he chirps, lazy. “Plus a weird nose, I bet.”

“Fuck you,” Auston retorts, but snakes his arms around Mitch’s waist, shifts so Mitch can do the same. They both pass out like that, holding onto each other; Mitch listening to Matts’ heartbeat, steady, ‘til he drifts off.

\-------

It’d be pretty easy to leave it at that, an isolated incident, and Auston doesn’t bring it up again, only-

Mitch can’t stop thinking about what happened. 

It’s never really been something he’s considered, ‘cause from what he’s seen on pornhub or wherever that kind of thing is mostly just dudes shouting really mean shit at girls or smaller dudes, which is probably the opposite of hot. Except that’s not how it was, with Matts. And it’s not like Mitch is saying he’s sold on this, right, but he’s also not _not_ sold and it’s-

He doesn’t know. Thinks he might want to, maybe.

And, look, he’s never really known how to leave well enough alone.

“So,” he announces, next time they’re alone together. Or- not alone, exactly, because they’re on the plane back from fucking _owning_ the Canucks in their own arena, but the rest of the guys are asleep or talking and Mitch is impatient, so he figures it’s okay. “I did some research.”

Auston’s still listening to his music, but he shoots Mitch a skeptical look. Mitch isn’t even playing, though. He used Google scholar, that’s how legit this research was, thank you very much. Also some porn sites, but. Still. Research.

“Research,” Auston echoes. Mitch tugs on the wire of Matts’ headphones ‘til he takes them out, sighing.

“Yeah,” Mitch says, when he’s satisfied that Auston’s paying a suitable amount of attention. “For your ‘getting told what to do’ thing.”

Auston’s eyes kind of bug out of his head. “Mitch!” He sits up, peers over the back of their seats like the team’s suddenly going to wake up and give him shit ‘cause he likes when Mitch bosses him around during sex. Mitch doesn’t really get the fuss, because aside from some chirping, the boys’d probably just chalk it up as another weird rookie thing, but he lowers his voice anyways. 

“Sorry,” he says, mostly unapologetic, leaning over onto their shared armrest. “But, look. It’s not, like, a _Fifty Shades of Grey_ kind of deal, right?” 

“No!” Auston says emphatically, blushing as red as Mitch has ever seen him. It’s unfairly endearing, really. “God, just. _No_. It’s not even really a thing.”

“No offense, dude, but I was there. It’s a thing.”

Auston shoots him a decent attempt at a glare, but Mitch just holds his gaze, raises an eyebrow, waiting.

Auston sighs. “Alright, so it’s- ugh, I don’t know. It’s weird to talk about.”

Mitch laughs, kind of exasperated. “Matts, we’re- I’m your boyfriend, dude. We’ve farted in front of each other too many times for stuff to be weird.”

“That’s less romantic than you think it is,” Auston says, dry. 

“I’m going to keep talking about farts unless you talk,” Mitch threatens, then, sing song, “Farts farts farts-”

“Okay, jesus, stop.” Auston says, laughing in spite of himself, which is how all of his Mitch-related laughs sound, usually. Mitch mostly fails to hide a smile, but shuts up and listens. Auston meets his eyes, a little tentative, but whatever tension there’s been is mostly gone. “Okay, so it’s not like... Like, okay, I don’t want you to hit me or to call you daddy or shit like that.”

“Alright,” Mitch says. He’s a little relieved that they’re on the same page with that stuff at least, because yeah, they’re pretty ride or die at this point, but also he probably definitely would not be into that. They’re both kind of red, now. “So what _do_ you want?”

“Okay, but it’s not just what I want, it’s both of us-”

“Matts.”

Auston sighs again. Auston’s probably made of sighs, by this point.

“Look,” he says. “I- you saw. When you told me what to do, that was. Good.”

“What else?”

There’s something almost wary in how Auston’s looking at him now, unfamiliar enough to be jarring. “I’ve never actually _done_ \- but I kind of thought about. Um.” He pauses way too long, and the words end up spilling out at the speed of light, all jumbled up. “Beingtiedup.”

It takes Mitch a second to really get that. And, okay. A plane full of their teammates and coaches is objectively a pretty unsexy environment, but there’s this fluttery feeling in his stomach anyways, like imagining Matts imagining _that_ is suddenly the single most erotic thing in the entire world. “Tied-”

“Yeah,” Auston says, and his voice is kind of low, and in retrospect, maybe this was Not The Place to have this conversation. “Yeah, like-”

“Like what?”

“My hands,” Auston says, and they’re looking at each other, hard, and Mitch is just getting around to debating the logistics of sex in an airplane bathroom when Willy pokes his head up to stare at them from the seat in front. 

“What about your hands?” Will asks.

Auston kind of coughs, startled, but Mitch just meets Willy’s eyes, keeps his voice steady in a truly fucking admirable show of will while he says, “We’re just trying to decide how I should tie Matts up while we’re getting freaky.”

Willy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right,” he laughs, and disappears back down in his seat, clueless.

The truth was probably better than a lie, in this case. Mitch probably doesn’t trust anything like he trusts the general obliviousness of hockey players. 

There’s a beat of silence, relief and something else, like they were breaking some kind of rule and almost got caught. Mitch forces himself to take a breath; looks over at Auston, like, _told you so._

Auston just shoves a hand at Mitch’s face halfheartedly. “Why do I like you?”

Mitch bites the tip of one of Matts’ fingers, gentle. “My effervescent personality,” he says. “Plus my next level sex abilities.”

“Why are you the way you are?” Auston asks, long-suffering. Mitch ignores him, steals one of his headphones so they can listen together. Sarcasm is how Matts shows affection, he knows. It works for them.

(He hears it like it’s on repeat, though, for days after, Matts saying _beingtiedup_.)

\-------

Mitch doesn’t really shut up during sex, ever. He doesn’t really shut up ever, to be fair, but especially during sex. There’s just so much happening, and turning that into words is the best way he knows how to deal with it all.

So he’ll blame it on that, a couple weeks later, when he’s straddling Auston on the couch, Netflix forgotten, and starts talking, only half-knowing what he’s saying.

“Know what I think?” he says, playful. “I think I could do anything, right now.”

“You could,” Auston says, right up against Mitch’s mouth, breathing kind of heavy. “You could, I’d let you, anything-” And their conversation on the plane is immediately at the forefront of Mitch’s brain, how could it not be?

So Mitch doesn’t know what makes him do it, really, but he trails his hands down Matts’ arms ‘til he can grab his wrists and pin his hands over his head, holding him in place. Auston lets out this shuddery breath, this soft thing that it’d be stupid-easy to chirp him for, except then their eyes are meeting and Mitch is on top of him and Auston – huge, human fucking brick wall Auston, who could probably pick Mitch up and throw him ten feet, if he really wanted to – is lying there pinned, looking up at him like Mitch is just the biggest thing in the world. 

And the weight of that is nearly enough to make Mitch a little dizzy, this good-but-overwhelming feeling, and it’s all just _new,_ is the thing; and they only really talked about it the once (he can still hear Matts saying it, _beingtiedup_ ); and he’s ridiculously hard and very confused and that could maybe be the title of his autobiography, at this point, but the real point is, is-

He chickens out.

Mitch stops pinning Matts’ wrists, grabs one of his hands and moves it to rest on his own hip. It’s kind of a grounding thing, Auston’s hand on him, his thumb rubbing a little circle on Mitch’s hipbone ‘til his heartbeat starts to get a little more normal.

“You good?” Auston asks, and he doesn’t even look disappointed or anything, just stares up at Mitch, brow furrowed the tiniest bit.

Mitch nods, gives a small smile and means it. “I kind of want to fuck you,” he decides without really planning to. “Is that cool?”

Auston leans up to kiss him, just once, gentle. It feels like reassurance, maybe. “That is very cool, Marns,” he says decisively, and Mitch leans down to kiss him again, lets himself get lost in Matts’ mouth until they’re rocking up against each other and scrambling for a condom. 

And it’s good, of course it is, because the two of them probably couldn’t have bad sex if they tried and Auston’s ass is of the ‘will not quit’ variety. And he’s really into it, too, breathing Mitch’s name and going all quiet right before he comes, like it’s too much for words.

But.

The possibility, the _almost_ is hanging there. Mitch can’t get the look on Matts’ face out of his head, that flash of something in his eyes when Mitch’d pinned his wrists on the bed, like- hungry. Wanting. And ‘overwhelming’ was the right word for that, Mitch thinks, that feeling like he had all the control and none of it at the same time, like when he’s tearing down the ice on a breakaway in front of a deafening crowd.

And Mitch has spent his whole life chasing that feeling, probably.

\-------

Dinner at Mitch’s parents’ place is the same as it is every time Auston comes over for dinner, which is to say that it’s Chris chirping the two of them and Dad busting out the embarrassing photos of Mitch – prom ones, tonight – and Mom asking Matts how Ema’s doing like they don’t exchange facebook messages on a daily basis.

It’s probably embarrassing how much his family is on board with the whole ‘dating Auston’ thing, but- Mitch doesn’t know. It’s a nice kind of embarrassing. Like, both of their families are super psyched they’re together, which is kind of cool, right, because Mitch is super psyched too. It’s just. Nice. 

They play NHL18 after dinner ‘til Mitch’s parents shoo them up to bed, saying that they’ve got work in the morning. They set up the guest room for Matts earlier, which is a nice enough gesture that Mitch feels kind of bad that Auston sneaks into his room as soon as everyone’s gone to sleep. Except then they’re making out under the covers, giggling like teenagers, and he forgets the whole ‘feeling bad’ thing.

Auston’s bracketed over Mitch, this huge wall of heat that’d maybe be uncomfortable if Mitch wasn’t entirely distracted by the kissing, because that’s definitely a thing; and the fact that he’s got both hands on Matts’ ass, because that also is _definitely_ a thing.

The duvet’s held up around Auston’s back, making them a kind of tent that’s lit up by Mitch’s phone flashlight next to his head. It casts weird shadows all along Auston’s face and chest, makes him look like some ethereal sex god or something – _jesus_ , Mitch’s internal monologue is embarrassing – or at least it does until Auston opens his mouth to start chirping.

So, like. That took all of five minutes.

“Nice prom photos, though,” he says, grinning wide, and Mitch rolls his eyes.

“Man, shut up, I looked good and you know it.” Auston makes a face, and Mitch gets it, because he wore this pink shirt and weirdly short pants that were, in retrospect, an absolute fucking abomination, but it’s a matter of pride, so he doesn’t give in.

“Hey,” he says, very seriously so that Auston’ll pay attention. He lowers his voice a little, like how he used to flirt with people at parties. “I’d ask you to prom.”

“What the fuck,” Auston says, propping himself up a little more so he can look at Mitch properly. “Why do you get to ask?”

Mitch groans and faceplants into his pillow. A guy can’t even be romantic without getting chirped, it’s ridiculous. “Why are you the worst?” 

“I don’t want to be the one getting picked up, that’s lame.”

Mitch turns to look at Auston, half his face still smushed into the pillow. “Name one time you’ve driven us anywhere, Matthews, _one time_. Oh, wait, you can’t, because we basically live in my car. Mic drop.”

Auston rolls his eyes. “We’re not taking your car to _prom_.” 

“What’re we going to take, then, a golf cart?”

“A limo. Obviously, a limo.”

“High maintenance,” Mitch says, like he doesn’t get paid enough to take a limo to practice every day, if he really wanted.

“Because I’m worth it,” quotes Auston, flips his hair all exaggerated like a girl in a shampoo commercial. It makes Mitch laugh, which was probably what he was going for. Mitch has to bite down on his t-shirt so he won’t wake the whole house.

Auston shushes him, but he’s laughing too, ends up just dotting kisses all along Mitch’s jawline in the least effective shut-up campaign ever attempted by mankind. And it’s not really a big moment, nothing like that, but it hits Mitch, there under the covers: Auston really, really loves him. _Him_. It feels kind of like bragging, even just thinking it. He gets to have this, ‘chel with his best friend then making out in his old room. 

“Auston,” he whispers. “Aus.”

Auston presses another kiss to his cheek. “Yeah?”

Mitch puts a hand on Auston’s jaw, tilts him to meet his eyes. It’s an eye-contact kind of thing, probably. “I want to try it. What we were talking about.”

Auston freezes. They both know that Mitch isn’t talking about prom. 

Matts is still not moving, and it’s been a solid ten seconds, and it’s enough to make Mitch regret every word that’s ever left his mouth. “Unless you don’t want to, in which case we can forget that this ever happened. That sounds like a good idea, actually, let’s do that-”

“Marns,” Auston says, and he sounds almost hoarse. “I want to.”

“Oh,” Mitch says. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Matts nods, and he opens his mouth to say something else but doesn’t get the chance because Mitch is leaning up to kiss him, hard, already thinking of how they’re going to do this and what he’s going to say and, god, Matty’s hands and ties and-

Auston makes this strangled noise, pulls back and rolls off of Mitch. It looks like it takes an effort. “Maybe,” he gets out, careful, “Maybe when your parents aren’t right down the hall, though.” 

Mitch pouts, misses the skin to skin contact. “Auston Matthews: Boner killer,” he says, deep like the voiceover in a movie trailer, then makes little laser noises, “pewpewpew.”

And Auston rolls his eyes, but he flings an arm over Mitch’s waist and pulls him close the way Mitch likes, even though it’s too hot for cuddling.

“Love you,” Mitch says, ‘cause it’s probably okay to be sappy, just this once.

“Mm,” Auston hums into his hair. “I’d still be the one asking you to prom, though.”

\-------

Matts gives him shit for scheduling a time for them to try this thing. Mitch thinks he’s being pretty reasonable. Doesn’t end up mattering either way, because when the night comes, they get out of their game against the Habs – shootout loss, close enough that they aren’t really miserable – Babs sends Auston and Freddie out to do the postgames. Except it’s not just locker room interviews, is the thing. It’s a legit presser, and it takes _forever_.

Mitch lingers in his stall, all but ready to jump Matts the second he and Freddie get back, but _then_ Mo declares that they’re doing Team Bonding tonight, which means that they all have to traipse out to a bar and talk hockey shit and watch Willy get trashed and flirt with anything in a skirt. And usually Mitch is down, because most of the vets get super affectionate when they’re drunk and it’s always a good night for hugs, except god, why tonight?

He’s crammed into a booth next to Matts, too aware of the heat of their sides pressed together and Auston’s adam’s apple every time he swallows and glances at his watch, just as impatient. It’s _torture_.

It’s an hour and a half of the most absolutely agonizing waiting that’s ever existed, eye contact and Auston’s foot on Mitch’s calf under the table and making out in the back of their uber like something out of a Beyoncé song. generally getting all keyed up so that Auston actually physically slams Mitch against the door the second they get back to his place, kissing him, hard.

“That was the longest night in the entire history of the world,” Mitch gasps out, already working on getting Auston out of his jacket while they’re both kicking off their shoes. “The fucking reporters, earlier-”

“Fuck Sportsnet,” Auston agrees, right up against Mitch’s mouth, unbuttoning his shirt at the same time. “Bedroom?”

Mitch hums in agreement, lets Auston guide the two of them through the living room, discarding clothes the whole way. Auston’s lips are on his, hot and forceful and thoroughly distracting enough that it takes Mitch almost tripping over the coffee table for him to remember what he was meaning to say.

“Hey, is ‘babsocks’ a good safe word?” 

“You planning on being unsafe, Marns?” Auston asks, this dumb, flirty voice while he nips at his favourite spot on the crook of Mitch’s neck, presses his lips there like he wants to leave a mark.

Mitch frowns, jabs at Auston’s bare stomach. “I’m serious, dude, we’re doing this right.” He barely has time to see Matts’ face kind of soften before he nearly trips _again_ trying to hop out of his pants and has to lean on Auston to keep his balance. “So, is the word-”

“Yes, babsocks, got it,” Auston says, impatient, and kicks Mitch’s discarded pants out of the way, noses at Mitch’s temple so he can say, right in his ear, “Now can we-”

“Yeah,” Mitch nods, leaning up to kiss Auston again, because he can. They’re both smiling when he pulls back and punches Auston’s chest, all playful. He can’t help but bounce a little where he’s standing. “I’m so excited, dude.”

“Loser,” Matts says, all fond, but he’s kind of buzzing too, the same kind of energy that Mitch usually only sees from him before a game.

It takes them probably too long to actually get anything in place, because they’re both kind of giggly and they keep getting distracting making out up against the wall, because they’re really doing this and it’s kind of the hottest thing ever, and Mitch is rifling through the closet to find ties to use as, like, _ties_. _Woah._

“Oh god, please don’t use the Leafs one,” Auston says, all breathless, and Mitch kind of has to sit down because he’s laughing so much. His knot-tying skills are less than brilliant, especially when he’s this amped up, but he eventually gets Matts’ wrists tied to the bedposts, spread apart over his head.

He tugs at one of the knots, unsure. “Is that-”

“It’s good,” Auston says, and the look on his face could almost make Mitch laugh again if it wasn’t suddenly so serious, this almost-awed thing, looking up at him like he can’t believe this is happening. So, like. Join the club, Matty.

There’s this weird moment of expectation, almost heavy, because this is unfamiliar territory for both of them. Mitch doesn’t really do heavy, though, so he does what comes naturally and leans down to kiss the tip of Auston’s nose, as feather-light as he can make it, barely even a touch.

Auston blinks, surprised. “Marns,” he says, this exasperated, stupid-affectionate thing, but then Mitch presses another kiss just above his mouth, then just at the corner, then just below, and Auston’s eyes flutter shut. 

“You’re a tease,” he says, but he seems content enough to lie there and let Mitch take his time, drag his teeth along Auston’s jaw.

“I don’t,” Mitch says, punctuating himself with kisses, “know- what- you- mean.” And Auston laughs, but there’s something tight the sound, now, stretched out. They’ve both been half-hard since the bar, definitely since the ride here, but now Mitch can see Auston straining in his underwear. 

He knows Auston sees where he’s looking, doesn’t drop his gaze. “Just from me kissing you and tying you up,” Mitch chirps, and drops a kiss to Matt’s collarbone, teasing. “What d’you think the boys’d say, Matty, if they knew you were this easy for me?”

“Marns,” Auston says, and it’s different from before, somehow, not just because he’s flushed bright red. There’s a second where Mitch kind of wonders if he took it too far, ‘cause it’s no secret he doesn’t really know what he’s doing here, except then Auston’s lying back on his pillow, eyes shut, all desperate. “Keep- be kissing me, please.”

“Easy,” Mitch can’t resist needling one last time, and Auston makes this _noise_ , so it’s really all Mitch can do to keep kissing his way down Auston’s body, slow enough to be at least a little mean. He really takes his time, detours along Auston’s arm, kissing his wrist where the tie is and thrilling in the way Auston’s fingers are scrabbling to touch him when he moves away. 

Mitch is palming himself through his underwear while he’s kissing Matts, mostly an afterthought. He’s not even sure Auston notices: his attention’s laser-focused on Mitch’s lips, this stretched-thin tension that reaches a tipping point when Mitch – finally, finally – makes his way to Auston’s hips, brushing his lips along his stomach while he tugs down Auston’s boxers. And then Auston’s dick is in front of him, red and hard and kind of beautiful, which is maybe a weird thing to think about a literal penis, but whatever, they’ve established Mitch is pretty much a goner, at this point.

He presses his lips to the tip, hardly even a brush. Auston’s leg is bouncing now, pent up energy. 

“I’m going to blow you,” Mitch decides, and Auston opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but Mitch keeps going. “You’re not going to move, though, ‘kay? Can you do that?”

Auston nods, “yeah”, this choked-off thing; and the ties must _really_ be doing it for him, Christ, because they’ve been together long enough for Mitch to know that he goes kind of non-verbal when he’s close, usually, and for that to happen so soon-

It feels really fucking good, that he can make that happen.

Mitch flicks his tongue along the head of Auston’s dick a couple of times, quick, testing, before he opens his mouth and takes him in. And he’s planning on easing into it, right, only they’ve been waiting long enough to be kind of desperate, so he’s barely getting a rhythm going when Auston bucks up into his mouth, this unconscious thing that catches Mitch by surprise and is almost enough to make him gag.

“Don’t move,” he orders again, eyes watering. “For me, Matty, c’mon.” And he can see Matts’ knuckles clenched white around the bedposts, but he stills, listening to Mitch, pupils blown wide. Mitch puts a hand on Matts’ hip when he starts again, holding him down just in case – he shouldn’t even bother, because Auston’s a statue, muscles taut with the effort of holding himself still on sheer will power. It’s definitely in the top ten hottest things Mitch has ever witnessed. Possibly top five.

He tells Auston as much, pulling off of him and giving his own dick a couple of cursory tugs so he won’t actually spontaneously combust, which is starting to feel like a possibility. “You’re being so good, Matts, you look- you’re perfect.”

“You too,” Auston grits out, and something about it, how _nice_ it is, almost makes Mitch laugh, because he’s pretty sure they’re not doing the whole rough bondage sex the way they’re supposed to and can’t bring himself to mind. This is better, though, he thinks, and takes Auston’s cock back in his mouth with renewed enthusiasm.

It feels like no time at all before Auston’s shaking under him, breathing all erratic. “Marns,” he says, “Marns, I’m gonna-”

Mitch pulls off right away.

“Wait,” Auston says, like it’s torn out of him, this needy thing. He’s squirming where he’s laying, like he’s trying to follow Mitch, finish even as he pulls back.

“Gotta be patient,” Mitch says, and can’t help but grin at the way that makes Matts scrunch up his face, somewhere between annoyed and desperate and like Mitch is the best thing he’s ever seen. Mitch could get used to being looked at like that, probably.

“’Cause, I mean,” Mitch continues, clambering over Auston to get to the bedside table. “We’ve been waiting for a while, right? It’d probably be a waste to finish up so soon, before you even got a chance to fuck me.”

“God, Marns,” Auston says, while Mitch grabs the lube and condoms from the drawer. He sounds completely wrecked, enough that Mitch can’t resist leaning in to kiss his mouth, quick, before drawing back to the other end of the bed.

He wants to remember all of this, forever, the way Matts is looking at him, the way everything feels bigger, _more_ than usual. The way Auston’s pushing down on the bed, trying desperately to get some kind of friction while Mitch works himself open with two fingers, then three, kind of making a show of it for the sounds it’ll get from Auston.

“C’mon,” he grits out, when Mitch has drawn it out to the point of being a little cruel. “c’mon, Mitch, I need-”

“What do you need?” Mitch asks, then, when Auston falls silent, “Tell me.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Auston says, breathless, but Mitch just waits. “Fuck, I need- I need to fuck you, Mitch.” It sounds like he’s forcing the words out, like talking this much during sex is new for him, which it maybe is.

“You’re not even kidding,” Mitch says, delighted, “You’re like, _needing_ -”

“Mitch,” Auston whines, actually whines, and he looks like something out of a dream, just then, all spread out and pupils blown wide, for Mitch. “ _Please_.”

And Mitch is only human.

He rolls the condom onto Auston, hasty, barely has time for a messy kiss before he’s sinking down onto Auston’s dick, not bothering to take his time.

“Fuck,” they both say at the same time, right up against each other. It sort of makes Mitch laugh, all breathy, and then they’re kissing again and Auston’s rolling his hips up into Mitch’s and it’s- _wow_.

It’s a little different, sure, because Matts can’t reach out a hand to steady him which leaves Mitch to balance and set the pace, but this – the feeling of Auston inside of him, rocking up against each other, slow then faster – Mitch knows, this they’ve _got_.

“Matts,” he says, digging his fingers into Auston’s arms, feeling his own dick responding to the movement. “Matts, come on, give me-”

“Yeah,” Auston grunts out, and they’re mostly just breathing into each other’s mouths now, too far gone to properly kiss, this frantic pushing up against each other, the utterly full feeling that Mitch can never quite describe; and then, in no time at all, Auston’s pulsing in him, eyes rolling back as his breath catches in his throat. It’s enough that Mitch finishes with a couple strokes, comes in spurts on Auston’s chest, saying his name and probably some other stuff he’s too out of it to remember.

It takes him a while to come back to himself, after. Even when he does it’s this weird, floaty feeling, part bone-deep exhaustion and part, just. _Happy_. And he usually feels happy after sex with Matts, sure, but this is new, and it’s exciting, and it feels like a million different possibilities, all at once.

He’s still on top of Matts, crumpled on his chest, and he waits ‘til Auston’s breathing gets more regular before rolling off of him. Matts was kind of starting to go soft, but Mitch makes a face anyways at the feeling, not quite sore. Auston grins at him, chirping without really saying anything. For a few seconds they’re just lying there next to each other, matching dopey grins, and then Mitch remembers.

“Oh,” he says, yawning, and sits up. “Lemme untie your hands, I almost forgot-”

“Just the left one,” Matts says, and when Mitch looks confused, he holds up his right hand, already free, a little sheepish. “I might have ripped the tie.”

And- he’s not lying. Mitch can see little grooves in the wood, when he reaches up to undo the knot, the places where where Auston was clinging to the headboard.

“When’d you do that?” Mitch asks, a little awed. So he has a thing for his super-ripped boyfriend, sue him.

Auston rolls his shoulder, lazily stretching out his arms. “When’d you start kissing me?”

Mitch laughs out loud, this wholly unselfconscious thing that makes Auston smile and tug him into a hug. They’re both pretty gross still, all sweaty and sticky, and Mitch’s breath is gonna be _awful_ in the morning, but he doesn’t move away, just nestles up to Matts’ side and shuts his eyes, lets himself be held.

“I fucking love you,” Mitch says, mostly delirious, and he can feel Auston press a kiss to the top of his head. He probably says it back, too, but Mitch is already most of the way to asleep, fucked-out and messy and as content as he can remember being just about ever.

\-------

He’s alone in the bed when he wakes up, but he can smell coffee, can hear cupboards opening and closing in the kitchen. Even half asleep, Mitch can recognize the sound of Matt’s footsteps. That probably means something super romantic, except his brain’s not really past the coffee thing, so he stretches and climbs out of bed, grabs the first shirt he can find and pads into the kitchen.

He lingers in the doorway for a few moments, letting himself fully wake up and watching Matts busy himself getting mugs down from the cupboard, setting the oven to preheat.

“Morning,” Mitch says eventually. He’s never been good at not having the attention. Auston kind of jumps, but he peers over his shoulder at Mitch and looks fond enough that Mitch forgets to give him shit for it.

“Marns,” he says, happy. “You didn’t have to get up, I was going to bring breakfast.”

Mitch waves him off. “Didn’t want to wait for coffee,” he says. “Also, you can’t cook. Please don’t burn down my apartment.”

Auston rolls his eyes. “I can cook,” he says, stubborn – which, no, he really can’t – but he watches while Mitch heaves himself up to sit on the countertop, legs dangling down.

He holds out a hand to Auston. “C’mere.” 

Auston comes, obliging, stands so he’s between Mitch’s legs. He wraps his arms around Mitch’s waist, drums his fingers along the exposed bit of skin where Mitch’s t-shirt rides up, and grins when Mitch squirms. He’s taller than Auston, sitting up there. Feels funny.

Mitch drags his toes along the back of Auston’s knees. “Hey.”

“Hey back.” Auston leans into Mitch’s touch, his voice this sleepy-soft thing that Mitch could listen to for a million years, probably. “Coffee’ll be ready soon.”

Mitch hums in assent, and for a few moments, they just stay there, pressed up close, listening to the _drip drip_ of the coffee machine.

“So,” he says, serious, playing with the hair at the nape of Auston’s neck. “That was the literal hottest thing I have ever been a part of, ever.” Auston grins, kind of self-conscious, but also kind of proud; enough to put butterflies in Mitch’s stomach. He tugs on a strand of Auston’s hair. “What are your opinions on the subject?”

“I liked it,” Auston says, without hesitating. “I liked it a lot. So- thanks.”

Great communicator, this one.

Mitch gets him, anyways.

He’s sort of surprised when Auston’s the one to speak up next, letting a hand linger at the small of Mitch’s back. “We could do that again. If you wanted to.”

Mitch is nodding almost before he’s done talking. “Yeah, no, definitely,” he says, eager, and Auston smiles as big as Mitch has ever seen, and he’s so, so in love with this guy, jeez. It’s super lame.

“Cool,” Auston says, audibly relieved, and Mitch laughs.

“Cool.” He brushes his nose up against Auston’s, stays up close. “Dude, we’re so good at communicating.”

“Fucking right,” Auston agrees. They do their handshake, which one way or another turns into kissing, which turns into Mitch backed up against the cupboard, a handle digging into his back while Auston kisses him so thoroughly he forgets how to think. They should consider just incorporating the kissing into the handshake, probably. 

Mitch pulls back, barely, just enough so he can talk. “Oh my god,” he says, suddenly stricken. “We’re so cute right now, it’s unreal.”

“Gross,” Auston agrees, and leans in again for more of Mitch’s lips like they’re something he’s not going to get bored of. Which – _good_ , Mitch thinks, ’cause he’s not planning on getting bored of this anytime soon either, coffee be damned, and Matts is tugging at his bottom lip, and he’d bet money that Auston’s going to try and lift him off the counter and carry him back to bed for more, and it’s just-

It’s good. It’s really good. 


End file.
